29 February 2012 5:42 PM

Sam Warburton defies physics and logic on his big day out at Twickenham

He talked about it like he was lucky, like anyone could have done it if they were willing to risk the physical punishment, but that single phase betrayed a unique talent: the speed of thought to change his defensive line when he saw the overlap, the agility to contort his body into a prostrate missile, the strength to keep his arms wrapped around a nuclear oak tree.

Sam Warburton was the lightest forward on the field that day facing the most powerful runner. His tackle on Manu Tuilagi, five metres from the try-line, ranks as one of the best I have ever seen. Nobody has so effectively chopped off Tuilagi's power at the source before. The Wales captain lassoed his claws around the Samoan's ankles and brought him down with three metres to spare.

Asked about it afterwards, Warburton said: 'I saw we only had Cuthbert on the blindside and I saw Manu get the ball. I went as low as I could to get away from his fend and hold on to him for my dear life. Close your eyes and dive at his ankles. You've got to be willing to fly in head first and break your nose.'

Warburton's agility around the breakdown is starting to make Richie McCaw look like a clumsy bear. Against England, he made Chris Robshaw look like Mr Blobby.

Robshaw is a diligent, passionate, impressive figure with many strengths to his game, but he is not an out-and-out openside — at best a six-and-a-half — and he was never going to compete.

Warburton, by contrast, was a born seven. He was rucking before he could crawl. His performance against England looks even better on second viewing. If the tackle defied physics, the rest of his game defied all logic.

The Wales captain had done no contact in training since the Ireland victory, in which he played only a stuttering part, 20 days earlier. He had spent most of the time since in the 'red room' — Wales' rehabilitation gym at the Vale — trying to resuscitate his dead leg in time for Scotland (a deadline he missed) and then England.

He admitted afterwards that the captain's run — the 20-minute team jog at the stadium on the day before the game — was the only session in which he had been fully involved before the England match. On the Thursday he had at least started the session with the team but dropped out before the heavy contact started.

How you emotionally and psychologically brace yourself for the physical torture of an Anglo-Welsh Triple Crown showdown in those circumstances is beyond the comprehension of mere mortals.

Warburton had also never faced England in a Six Nations match before, let alone led his side out in such circumstances into the Twickenham cauldron — and for once, thank goodness, the old stadium produced an atmosphere worthy of the label — yet he seemed only spurred on by the occasion.

Warburton has also achieved that unique status between aura and approachability. He feels like one of the gang to his team-mates and yet has the unmistakable aura of the leader. He is also a thoroughly decent bloke. You can tell a lot about a guy by the way he reacts to a dictaphone being shoved in his face when he would much rather be celebrating with his team-mates.

And where McCaw will always be the master of the dark arts of the breakdown, whose greatest gift is the consistent ability to breach, break or bend the laws of the game without being punished for it, Warburton rarely breaks the law.

It seems he doesn't really have to. He is so quick to get to the breakdown, so capable of reading the movement of the tackle to anticipate where he needs to be, so alert to the movement of team-mates and opponents, that his gift is to be at the right place at the right time. And all of Wales should be grateful for that.

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